


Oscillation

by lookupkate



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: AU, Angst, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Eventual Happy Ending, Eventual Smut, JOHNLOCK IS ENDGAME, M/M, Mary is horrible, different first meeting, trash!John
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-27
Updated: 2015-04-19
Packaged: 2018-03-19 20:40:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 16
Words: 19,645
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3623532
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lookupkate/pseuds/lookupkate
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John and Mary have been together for two years and John thinks they should probably settle down. John is happy with Mary. It's the only way their situation makes sense, so it must be happiness. Sherlock sees a flaw in that logic. What does John do then, when the strange man brings parts of his life into question and refuses to just bloody go away? Well, fall in love with him, of course.</p><p>Different first meeting<br/>Not canon compliant<br/>Suspend yo disbelief before you wreck yoself</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Mary

**Author's Note:**

  * For [yarnjunkie](https://archiveofourown.org/users/yarnjunkie/gifts), [](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts), [Tardisqueen](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tardisqueen/gifts).



 

Mary was the one. He'd settle down with her and they'd buy a reasonably priced house with two bedrooms and a yard and grow old together. She had to be the one, just had to. John smiled as she rolled over and rested her head on his shoulder. Yes, she was the one.  
_____

"John, are you coming? The party was supposed to start ten minutes ago," Mary said from the front room.

She layered on more mascara in the mirror by the front door and blinked several times waiting for it to dry before looking down at her watch.

"Almost done," John said, tucking in the tails of his favourite shirt.

It had been a long day, flu season starting and all, and he ignored the fact that everyday seemed just like the rest. It wasn't that he hated his job or his friends or his life, he just hated the monotony. Ridiculous thought from someone so set in their ways, he knew that, but there it was. He was bored. Bored out of his bloody mind. He felt hollow inside, like one of those cheap Easter bunnies, hollow under all that brightly colored foil. He swallowed down the thought and tried on a smile, and then another when that one wasn't right.

He didn't want to go to the party but Mary had been friends with David and Elise for years and she'd begged him to go. He supposed he'd do anything if Mary asked, that was love wasn't it? Besides, that way she wouldn't be disappointed with him. She'd called him an old man earlier for wanting to stay in and it hurt a bit more than he figured it should have. He looked at himself in the mirror quickly and adjusted his collar before walking out of the bedroom.

"Oh, John," Mary said with a shrill laugh. "You've got to be joking. You can't wear that shirt, it makes your head look...well, off."

John looked down at the shirt and then up at Mary. He didn't see anything wrong with it.

"Go put on the blue one," she said. "Christ, what you'd do without me I don't know."

John went back to change. She was right, he'd be a mess without her, had been in fact. He was depressed and listless for months after he came back from the army and probably wouldn't have got out of it if it weren't for Mary. She was good for him, told him so enough. He slipped his red shirt off over his head and pulled the blue one on and buttoned it.

"Jesus, John, can't you hurry?" Mary hollered from the front door, the sound of her jangling her keys doing uncomfortable things to John's stomach.  
_____

Thirty minutes later they were at the party, Mary a bit drunk already and nearly hanging off David's arm. It was nothing new, she always ended up that way at parties; a bit to comfortable with friends, a bit too bored with John. He'd tried dancing with her but she'd pushed him away so he figured she'd get it out of her system and went to sit by the bar that had been set up to have a gin and tonic. His eyes lingered on her and the way David's fingers brushed over her hip as he made his drink.

"Your girlfriend is sleeping with the host," a man said out of nowhere.

John turned, mouth gaping. The handsome prat didn't even look like he was worried he might get hit over a comment like that. In fact, he was almost bloody smug.

"What did you say?" John asked, a little amused by the statement.

"You heard me the first time. I detest having to repeat myself. You don't love her anyhow, you just want to. Perhaps you can't fall in love with her. Quite possibly you're gay and don't want to live a gay lifestyle. You delude yourself. It's alright. Some people need that, the idea of being in love-" the man began.

He began but he did not finish. John Watson was not one to be talked to like that and he had a mean right hook. The idiot found that out quite well and Mary was very quickly dragging John from the party and screaming at him.

"He said you were sleeping with David," John said as Mary pushed him into a cab, not ready to explain to himself or anyone else why that comment wasn't what made him truly mad.

"Well, I don't care what he said! You go home, I'm not leaving the party just because you've decided to be a prat," Mary said before closing the door with a bit more force than necessary.

John watched her walk back into the house just as that arsehole walked out clutching his nose in a handkerchief. At least John had that. He told the driver his address and watched the prick as they drove away. Just as they were about to turn the corner the man looked up. John gave him a two finger salute and felt more than a little ashamed of his actions.  
_____

He spent the drive slumped down in the seat and was happy when they made it to his flat. He payed the driver and walked slowly up the front steps. The whole building was quiet and dark, something he really loved about that locale so he slipped in without a sound and left most of the lights off.

The anger he'd felt was slowly burning brighter as he turned his record player on low and poured himself a scotch. He swallowed slowly, letting the burn take over his consciousness, and went to lay on the sofa, thinking to himself that the night hadn't turned out that badly after all if he was able to sit in silence for once. He tried to relax but his mind kept wheeling back around to what the man at the party had said.

'You don't love her anyhow.'

What a preposterous thing to say. Prick. Of course he loved Mary, she was by far the love of his bloody life. They'd been together for two whole years, after all. He was probably going to marry her.

Something slick turned over in his stomach and he took another gulp from his cut crystal glass.

He loved Mary. This was love. He got her favorite when he ordered takeaway and cleaned her clothes by her specifications and if they ever got a dog he'd bloody walk it and all those little things they just built up and if it wasn't love then what the hell were they? Hmm? Why would he be doing all these stupid little things he didn't want to do if he didn't love her? He'd be a fucking fool! He'd be a complete and utter idiot for putting up with her awful friends and her shite cooking and the way she looked at him sometimes as if he was three years old and needed his blankie and the way she insisted on fixing his tie even when it was just bloody fine and why did she always do that? Jesus! Why did she have to touch his tie like she owned him? Christ, now he was thinking in circles.

John slammed the glass down hard on the table and cursed under his breath as he heard it crack. Fantastic. Now they'd be missing one from the set. Mary would notice.

He went to get a flannel to wrap the broken glass in and stopped short when he saw the blood on his hand. 'Strange', he thought, 'didn't even hurt'.


	2. Drawbacks: Handsome.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock talks with Mike and then heads home for some purely scientific musing.

Sherlock had been sitting on the bench outside for a few minutes when a familiar face showed itself and he cringed. Now was not the time for candy coated niceties. He supposed it could be worse, it could be Molly.

"Mike," he said, voice muffled by the handkerchief at his nose, still there though the bleeding had stopped.

"Making friends?" Mike asked with a sad smile, something that still managed to look rather jolly on the man (perhaps it was the red cheeks).

"I think I'll fit in just fine," Sherlock replied flatly.

Mike sighed and took a seat next to him, smile falling a bit as he looked down at his feet. Sherlock, who hated this sort of thing on instinct, shuffled a bit away from him and looked off to his left.

"You start tomorrow, right?" Mike asked after a few moments, moments in which Sherlock begged the gods to let the man leave without trying to converse.

"Mmm," Sherlock replied, trying for the weakest response in hope that he could shake Mike from the socialization if he was an unappealing conversational partner.

"Well...I'm right upstairs if you need anything," Mike said, getting the hint slowly, as was his way.

Sherlock didn't reply as the older man stood and made his way back into the house. When the door opened Sherlock could hear his new 'workmates' were still at it, hooting and hollering like a bunch of footballers. He cursed himself for even going to the party, reminding himself once again that no matter what he did no one would like him anywhere he went. Best not to get involved anyhow, that's always when things go wrong; when you get involved.

He stood and refolded his handkerchief so the blood was on the inside and stuck it in his pocket before walking to the street and easily hailing a cab. He gave the man the address and they slowly made their way through the night to Baker Street.

He manipulated his nose this way and that to see if there was anything needing a real looking to but found himself nothing but sore. Luckily doing so hadn't started the bleeding back up but it did twinge and he had a feeling he'd be showing up to his first day of work a bit black and blue. Not that it mattered. Maybe that way people would avoid him.

He paid the cabbie when they pulled up to the kerb and opened the front door as quietly as he possibly could, trying desperately to keep from disturbing Mrs H if only to avoid the mothering he knew she would dispense without notice. If she woke he would surely be sat on her toilet lid and cleaned up while she told him some horrid story of how her ex husband always came home bloodied and such. How every story made it back to the deadman was beyond Sherlock, he could only suppose the brain has funny ways of reordering memories when left to its own devices.

He made it in and up to the flat without rousing suspicion, removed his greatcoat and unbuttoned his suit jacket then lay back on his sofa to go through all the mental detritus the day had piled up for him, first listing his coworkers and their possible uses.

Mike: Could be talked into doing anything out of sheer kindness. Usually stays above the second floor so avoiding him wouldn't be too difficult. Absolutely no awareness of when he's being manipulated. Usefulness: 5

Drawbacks: Said kindness.

Conclusion: Keep on back burner. Try not to upset too badly.

Molly: Has a quickly developing crush, on him none the less. Could be used for all kinds of favors. Is cleverer than the rest, even in a room full of doctors. Has full access to anything dead or deformed. Usefulness: 7

Drawbacks: Romantic intentions.

Conclusion: Let her look at your neck to get severed toes and such.

David: Not completely idiotic. Interested in keeping his sexual relationship with Mary a secret. Could be talked into turning a blind eye to do so. Usefulness: 1.3

Drawbacks: Horrid human being.

Conclusion: Avoid.

Mary: Only on the premises every other week but holds keys becuase of it. Can stitch up a wound in no time. Desperate to seem normal. Desperation breeds opportunity. Usefulness: 1

Drawbacks: Liar.

Conclusion: Avoid.

John: John Watson is an idiot who doesn't know when to appreciate that someone is telling him the truth and then punches said someone in the nose over possibility of truth. Hates his life and girlfriend though he wishes not to. Takes said hate out on innocent observers. Quite a temper and nowhere to direct it. Damn good doctor wasting his time in locum and would probably hit you if you told him so. Usefulness: 0

Retract-

Usefulness: -1

Drawbacks: Handsome.

Retract-

Usefulness: -5

Drawbacks: Ex military but unwilling to put it to good use.

Conclusion: New possible enemy.


	3. Out Of Line

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> First day of work for one Sherlock bloody Holmes.

Mary had insisted they share a cab. She was wearing too much perfume and John had to crack the window a bit even though it was biting cold. She scolded him, of course, and he rolled it back up.

"You'd better not embarrass me today," she said, reaching across the seat to fidget with his tie.

"Embarrass you?" John asked.

"A building with David, you and that man you were flirting with the other night?" She said, cocking a poorly drawn eyebrow.

John nearly spat out his coffee at that, only barely managing to swallow what was in his mouth and not breathe it, and looked up at her.

"The man I was flirting with?" he demanded.

"Yeah, the posh one?" she replied with a spark in her eyes.

John took a moment to glance nervously at the driver and tried to speak with quiet surety.

"I was NOT flirting with him," he hissed.

Mary's nose scrunched up and she rubbed his thigh while looking like she was trying not to giggle.

"It was cute," she said a bit loudly. "You'd make a cute couple. Like a greyhound and a mutt."

"I'm sorry?" John asked, flabbergasted.

"Or a crow and a goldfinch," she added with a giggle.

When he simply gritted his teeth and looked out the window she sighed pointedly and drew her hand away.

"I was only joking," she insisted, knowing full well he was sensitive over his bisexuality. "You don't have to be such a downer."

John continued to look out the window as they made their way towards Bart's.  
_____

"I don't need a ride, Mycroft," Sherlock hissed from his place nearly rolled into a ball next to his brother in an ominous black sedan. "I'm not a child."

"No," Mycroft replied from behind a shiny black dossier, "if you still were mummy would be keeping you home on your first day of school. How you managed to make an enemy before your first day is a mystery."

Sherlock turned and looked out the window, already thinking about how he could bring the man that had brought on this little chaperoned outing to a very bloody end.  
_____

John cleaned the vomit from his shirt and slumped back against the wall. How old did one have to be to avoid vomit on a regular basis? At least when he'd been doing surgery the contents of a stomach usually stayed where they were. He looked at his watch and cringed when the door was opened. Mary came bustling in and talking a mile a minute and reorganizing his desk. He stuck his hands in his pockets to stop himself from physically detaining hurricane Mary and took a step back.

"So I told David I'd join him for lunch. You don't like going out anymore anyhow. I suppose you'll probably get a sandwich from the vending machine. Have some crisps, too, you're losing weight again," she said.

John swallowed and chewed the inside of his cheek until she stopped fussing and walked over to give him a chaste kiss before leaving. The second she was out of the room he slumped once more against the wall, not interested in looking into the fact that he had the same reaction to her being in a room with him that he had to being vomited on. 

After he'd got his breath back and managed to stop clenching his hands so tightly he went to his desk and pulled the top drawer clean out, set it on the floor and reached into the space left in its absence to take out the half smoked pack of cigarettes and blue plastic lighter. He slipped one cigarette out and stuck it carefully in his breast pocket before putting the rest back where they were and replacing the drawer.

He could have sworn his coworkers knew where he was going when he walked quickly to the back of the building but that was probably his paranoia acting up. His stomach clenched and he sniffed loudly as he walked out the back entrance and moved quickly into the shadows. He was happy for how busy the building was on the inside because it kept attention away from him when he lit the cigarette and took a long drag, eyes drifting closed as the first bit of nicotine entered his blood stream.

The fact that his eyes were closed was what kept him from noticing the younger man who came to lean next to him against the wall with a cigarette of his own. Said man did not go unnoticed for long.

"Does Mary know you smoke?" Sherlock asked smoothly, eyes trained on the wall opposite.

"Jesus, fuck!" John shouted, hand going to where his gun should have been at his waist. "What the actual fuck is wrong with you?"

Sherlock looked over and cocked his head to the side, pretty clearly showing off his one black eye.

"You mean besides the obvious?" he said snidely.

John sighed loudly and rubbed a hand across his brow.

"Look, I'm sorry, okay? I was out of line," he said honestly, taking another drag and wondering who he'd fucked over in a past life to have this happening right bloody now.

Sherlock seemed to be confused by the statement and was still looking quizzically at John when the doctor glanced over. When he finally did speak it was more out of a sense of self preservation than the need to anger John. It was a move perfected over the years to keep people at a distance.

"You're smoking because Mary is working here today. It's lunch and a happy couple would be off eating together but you're here. I'd say you weren't hungry but you're certainly underweight as it is so I'll go as far as to say your ptsd is acting up again. How long have you been back, doctor, and what does your therapist have to say about it?" Sherlock spit quickly.

John found himself standing with the man's expensive shirt balled in his fist and his arm drawn back before he realised what he was doing. He let go as if he were burned and took a step back, looking at his hand like it was alien to him. 

Sherlock breathed quickly and watched John like a hawk as he stomped out his cigarette and walked back inside. His chest was tight and he was right on the edge of something, something he didn't recognize. He tried to straighten his shirt a bit before taking another deep drag of his own cigarette and watching his hand shake as it drew away.  
_____

John strode down the hallway towards the cafeteria and quickly got in line behind some fellow doctors. He had close to exact change in his pocket for the sandwich and crisps Mary had suggested and hastily unwrapped the sandwich on his way back to his office. Once through the door he took a large bite and chewed silently. After ten seconds of chewing he pulled the small bin from under his desk and spat his mouthful into it.

Leg seizing.  
Chest tightening.  
Throat closing.  
And  
He  
Was  
On  
The  
Floor


	4. Get My Attention, Yes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mary meets Sherlock.

Sherlock made his way down to the morgue once he'd finished his cigarette and found Molly taking notes at her desk. He went and sat down next to her with a huff and her eyes grew wide. He sighed and stuck his hand out.

"Sherlock Holmes, pleased to meet you," he said flatly.

She continued on with the horrified look for a few more moments, obviously going over the bruise on his eye socket, before taking his hand and shaking it eagerly.

"Molly Hooper. We, well, we met at David's party last night," she said in a tight voice.

"Oh, yes. Anyhow," Sherlock said drawing the word out and looking around. "Was wondering if you had seen the man who came in covered in that bizarre fungi. I'm interested to find out if it was cause of death."

Molly's eyebrows raised and she shot from her seat and moved quickly across the room. Sherlock followed her and watched as she drew a long drawer out of the wall and pulled a sheet aside to reveal the man.

"It's really quite odd," she said, "I've never-"

"Mmm, I'm sure. I'll need a sample," Sherlock interrupted, taking a pen from Molly's pocket and moving the sheet a bit more. "A sample and the use of your microscope."

She went to retrieve what he asked for, well, a bit, and then stood next to him once again, cheeks flushed.

"Do you really work here?" she asked softly as Sherlock began scraping at the dead man's skin.

"I'll be needing tea soon," Sherlock said in lieu of response. "I take mine with sugar."

"Of course," she said, nodding and taking a step back.  
_____

When she got back with the tea she found herself completely unable to rouse the attention of the thin man and decided to just set the tea by him and watch him work. She was sitting across the way from him doing just that when Mary walked in with her boyfriend.

"Hello, Molly," Mary said with a smile as they walked through the door.

Molly looked up, the lock of hair she'd been chewing falling from her lips, and blushed slightly at being caught, "oh, hello."

Mary looked over at Sherlock and crossed her arms just as John noticed who was in the room and swallowed audibly.

"Who's your friend, Molls?" Mary asked in a way she probably thought of as cute but was rather grating if she actually cared enough to look at anyone's response.

John stood a bit straighter, expecting the source of all his current upset to look up at them.

"That's Sherlock," Molly said a bit meekly. "He's, um, busy right now. Might not reply."

Mary laughed and went to stand next to Sherlock, ostensibly to get his attention, and John started to back away towards the door. 

"Sherlock Holmes," Mary said. "The man my boyfriend can't quite stop thinking about."

Sherlock didn't move as Molly looked back and forth between John and Mary.

"Mary, can we please not do this now?" John said, stomach lurching.

"Come on, don't be a baby," Mary said with a wave of her hand. "You two need to get over this little squabble and you might as well do it now."

John bit the inside of his cheek enough to taste blood as Mary went on cheerfully fucking with his life. He was pulled from his horror when Mary waved a hand in front of Sherlock's face, wicked grin still plastered to her lips, and the man's hand reached out without warning to grip her wrist.

The look on her face and the way she tried to take a step back woke John completely and he stood riveted as someone finally stood up to his girlfriend.

"Does this persona work for you?" Sherlock asked, holding her still with one hand as he switched to another slide with the other.

She scoffed and tried once again to back away, "don't know what you mean. I was just trying to-"

"Get my attention, yes," Sherlock interrupted, finally looking up and cocking his head to the right. "Answer the question."

Mary had the nerve to actually glance over for help to John, who'd unconsciously moved closer to both Molly and the action. John ran his tongue across his bottom teeth and refused to say anything.

"I don't know what you're getting at," she said uncomfortably, smiling strangely to try to cover it.

"You tease everyone around you into submission and call upon your supposed innocence to bring their reactions into scrutiny. But innocence, Mary, is something you don't really possess, is it?" Sherlock went on, standing in one fluid motion and suddenly looming over Mary. "You're hurting him and you know it but it's better that way, isn't it? Keeping him like this? As long as he's the broken child you can be your namesake and protect him... Virginal, another thing you aren't."

Something snapped in Mary and her whole demeanor changed. If she weren't so caught off guard by being completely seen through she might have noticed this was Sherlock's intent all along, to have her show her true self. She rolled her neck and finally pulled hard enough to get her hand back.

"You would know, wouldn't you, Sherlock. The virgin. Two whole sets of puppy dog eyes for you in one room and you still can't seem to slip the moniker. Tell me, how would you like to fuck my boyfriend?" she asked coolly.

Sherlock smiled and breathed deeply and the room seemed stuck in the moment waiting for his response.

"Are you really so jealous over him hitting me? Is it because he hasn't touched you with such passion before? Are his motions with you a little false? Perhaps you'd like to watch him take me apart right here, just to see what it's like when he really wants it," Sherlock purred.

The sound of Mary slapping him in the cold room was a loud crack that none of them expected but Sherlock. He remained where he was and looked John right in the eye when she stormed away and tried to pull him from the room. John was gaping, mouth open of its own accord, and he couldn't seem to be pulled from those pale blue eyes. Mary screeched at him and he finally followed, completely ignorant to the painful way her nails were digging into his arm.


	5. Horrible

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John and Mary go home and Sherlock thinks on their encounter.

"He's completely horrible!" Mary said, leaning against John in the cab. "I understand why you hit him, what a horrible man!"

John was chewing his bottom lip and licking at the broken bit of skin on the inside of his cheek alternately. He'd never seen anyone tear Mary down before and he'd never thought about why that was. Now that it was spelled out so obviously he felt rather sick over it. Had he honestly fallen into the trap of loving...well, that was under suspicion now, wasn't it...fallen into...fallen into the trap of...

"John! You aren't even listening to me!" Mary hissed, sticking out her bottom lip in a clear attempt to look innocent even as she was berating him. "He was horrible to me and you aren't even bothered! You act as if you don't even love me!"

John cleared his throat and gripped her hand. Thank god the cab pulled up to their flat before he had to say he loved her. He paid the driver as she stomped from the car and fled into the building. John straightened his tie and stood at the kerb looking up at it, his home, his home with the woman he was meant to marry. Everything about it seemed off now, as if in a dream.  
_____

Sherlock was once again looking through the eyepiece of the microscope as Molly stood fussing with the cuffs of her shirt. He couldn't stop thinking of John, the way his eyes stayed on him until he was pulled from the room. He'd expected the slap, to be honest, but he hadn't expected John to stay quiet. He wondered if that meant he wasn't bothered or just utterly shocked.

He felt bad about what he'd said to him earlier and bloody hell wasn't that ridiculous? It wasn't as if what he said wasn't true. He shouldn't feel guilty, guilt was a waste of time. 

He switched the slides and thought about how he felt being apologized to. It was a wholly singular phenomenon. It stirred something inside him that he didn't know what to do with. Perhaps John had seen what he'd said was true.  
_____

Mary was asleep and John was staring up at the ceiling. It wasn't right. He should feel angry over what Sherlock had said about Mary but he didn't, he really didn't. What he did feel was a bizarre sort of arousal. There was something about Sherlock's eyes that he couldn't shake.

He knew the adrenaline of the close fight between Sherlock and Mary was long out of his bloodstream but he still felt on edge, almost giddy. It was the feeling you get right before a fight. He wanted to hit something, wanted to feel something. That was the crux of his life, after all, he didn't feel anything anymore.

He closed his eyes and slipped a hand underneath the waistband of his pajama trousers and stroked his half-hard cock slowly, breathing through his nose and bringing it to full attention. For the first time in a long time he didn't think of any of his past sexual partners as he slowly brought himself closer to climax. What he thought of were a set of piercing eyes and a mop of dark curls. Jesus, oh, Jesus, that was it.


	6. Come On, Then

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock and John. Losers.

John didn't see Sherlock for a whole week and was honestly starting to wonder if he would ever again. He'd tried to look up Sherlock's work schedule on the computer but he couldn't seem to find it. Figuring that it was due to his near computer illiteracy instead of some hospital secret he shut the thing down and got his jacket and prepared to head out for the day.

He closed his office and walked down the hall on his way to the exit but stopped next to the elevator. It was only one floor down to the morgue and Molly had seemed to know Sherlock. Maybe if he went down she would know his schedule. 

No. Nope, not going to happen. He didn't need to know the man's schedule anyhow, it wasn't like he needed to talk to him. What would they talk about anyhow? 'Gee, I noticed that you're probably right about the fact that my girlfriend is horrible to me and I don't love her. And I had a guilty wank over you the other night as I lay next to her in bed...and again yesterday in the shower.' No, that wouldn't go over well at all.

Just as he was about to turn the elevator doors opened and the man he was just thinking of nearly ran him over, knocking him to the ground and looking completely surprised.

"Sorry, sorry," he said, scrambling to stand.

He held his hand out and John took it, letting him help him up and awkwardly dust off his jacket. He then turned and ran off leaving John to simply stare at the closing door. What in the hell was wrong with the man? 

John shook his head and started to leave just as Sherlock ran back in the door.

"You're a doctor with a background in the military," he said, cheeks flushed.

John looked around and answered once he saw he was in fact the only one in the hall.

"Yes."

Sherlock walked closer, his height imposing as ever, and looked John in the eyes with bruising interest.

"Seen trouble, I'd bet," he said, so close the air from his lungs was warm on John's face.

"Yes," John said, nodding and then clearing his throat. "Plenty of trouble. More than enough for a lifetime."

"Proficient in self defense, I'd wager," Sherlock added, moving impossibly closer and making the hair stand up on the back of John's neck.

"Very proficient," John said, shoulders moving back and chest puffing out unconsciously.

"Want to run down a serial killer with me?" Sherlock asked, lips curling with a sort of manic glee.

John took a deep breath and answered before he had time to think what a horrible idea it might actually turn out to be.

"God, yes," he nearly panted.

Sherlock's smile grew toothy and he nodded towards the exit. "Come on, then."

They ran out the front door and John experienced for the first time Sherlock's uncanny ability to hail a cab seemingly out of nowhere. They slipped into the back seat and Sherlock started tapping away at his mobile. John tried not to stare and failed miserably.

"You've got questions," Sherlock said before sticking his mobile into the pocket of his greatcoat.

John smiled with one side of his mouth and clenched his right hand.

"Yeah," he said. "Where are we going?"

"A little known abandoned building just north of here," Sherlock replied. "Next."

"What exactly are we doing?" John asked.

Sherlock rolled his eyes and sat back in his seat, fingers tapping an erratic beat on his thigh.

"Running down a serial killer, I've told you that already, do keep up."

"Shouldn't we call the police?" John asked, realising for the first time that this might not be something they should be doing.

Sherlock scoffed and shook his head. "Not if we want it done right. They're a bunch of idiots."

"Is this...legal?" John asked softly, eyes going to the back of the driver's head nervously.

"Not strictly," Sherlock said, his previous grin returning. "But I think that might appeal a bit to you, adrenaline addiction being left unattended to."

"Adrenaline addiction? Who said anything about an adrenaline addiction?" John asked, already thrumming with the stuff, truth be told.

"You did," Sherlock replied, looking out the window and smiling smugly. "You agreed to go running after a killer with a man you barely know, and might I remind you, don't have any reason to like, when you should be home with your girlfriend watching crap telly and getting fat."

John chuckled and sat back in his seat with a long inhale. "You're right. Brilliant as well, as much as I might not have appreciated it."

Sherlock looked over with clearly renewed interest and chewed on his lip before speaking, something that had John's rapt attention.

"You appreciate it now?" he asked, voice uncertain.

"Mmm," John agreed with a soft smile. "Against my better judgement."

Sherlock looked into his eyes so deeply that John had to break the stare just as they pulled up to the building, car tyres making a crunching noise as asphalt turned to gravel and dry weeds. Sherlock tossed a few notes to the driver and got from the car in a hurray, nearly leaving John behind as he did. John jogged to catch up and tried not to look too winded, promising himself he'd get back to biking to work if he lived through this little adventure.

The building was dark inside even though it was only around six PM and John was almost hesitant to go in. Sherlock, of course, cocky bastard, strode through a hole in one wall as if he was on a bloody catwalk, not stopping for a second to even look concerned. John cursed under his breath and hopped through to follow. He only had to take ten or so steps before he caught up with Sherlock. The man raised a finger to his lips and John stayed silent.

"Jackson! I know you're in here!" Sherlock shouted, clever eyes scanning the open space for any sign of movement. "We've got the place surrounded, you might as well give up!"

John scrunched up his nose and looked suspiciously at Sherlock who just shrugged and took another step.

"We found the bodies, Jackson. We know what you've done," Sherlock continued.

There was a shadow across the way that seemed to flicker before John realised it must be the suspect. He poked Sherlock in the side and nodded towards it just as the man stood to his full height and made a run for it.

Sherlock was off like a rocket, covering the space in no time as John worked to keep up. They chased the man out of the building and down the street before Sherlock vaulted over a fence and John was forced to clamber over after him. Once on the other side they dodged a not so friendly dog and hopped a shorter chain length fence that had them landed in someone's garden. Sherlock crouched low and John did the same, the two of them hiding behind a large hydrangea like a pair of children playing tag.

Sherlock grinned and put up three fingers then drew one down, another, then the final one. Just as he did the man John figured they'd been chasing, going by Sherlock's reaction, bound over a cement block divider and into the backyard. He stood for a second looking around, eyes wild and chest heaving before Sherlock jumped up and corralled him towards a small alley.

When the man finally reached the end and found no exit route in sight he turned and literally growled at Sherlock. The genius took a few steps forward and grinned.

"You're cornered and desperate," Sherlock said with a strange calm. "If you're smart you'll give up."

"You have no idea how wrong you are," came a voice from behind them.

Sherlock jumped out of the way of the hunting knife Jackson's cronie was brandishing and John lunged forward and quickly subdued Jackson. Sherlock fought with the second man while John looked on, using his entire body to keep Jackson from fleeing. The way the man moved was effortless and John nearly cheered when he gave the final blow that knocked the accomplice out cold. 

Sherlock straightened his great coat and turned to grin down at John and handed him a pair of what looked to be police issue handcuffs. John slapped them on while Sherlock picked up the blade and inspected it.

"Well done, John," Sherlock said. "Lestrade should be here shortly."

"Who's Lestrade?" John asked, standing and massaging his left thigh.

"He's a detective inspector for the Met," Sherlock said, once again typing on his mobile.

"I thought you said you weren't going to call the police," John replied, leaning with his hands on his knees and regretting the cigarette he'd had earlier in the day.

"Not until the fun is over," Sherlock said with a wink that did impressive things to John's stomach. "And I prefer to text."

John chuckled as Sherlock spun the mobile in his hand before depositing it back in his pocket and going to sit on the accomplices back.  
_____

Over the next eight minutes Sherlock explained to John how he'd not only figured out who the murdered was but where his hideout was. John felt like a teenager, giddy and interrupting with breathless praise at every turn. His last 'brilliant' spilled from his lips right as they heard sirens approaching.

"You know you do that out loud," Sherlock said, eyebrows knit though he smiled.

"Right," John said, hoping desperately that he wasn't blushing. "I'll stop."

"No, it's fine," Sherlock said.

There was the screech of tyres and then footsteps before Sherlock shouted to Lestrade to let him know where they were and the man came round the corner with an intense frown. 

"Jesus, Sherlock!" he shouted agitatedly. "You've got to stop doing this! I don't bloody care how much fun it is chasing these bastards down, from now on you have to call for backup!"

Sherlock sighed and crossed his arms in a put upon manner right where he sat and John was reminded of a toddler not getting his way. Lestrade looked over and finally saw John and raked his hands through his short-cropped salt and pepper hair.

"And who the bloody hell is this?" he demanded.

"A colleague," Sherlock replied, standing and holding his hands behind his back. "Dr John Watson. He's been invaluable in the search for and apprehension of the suspects."

John felt a bit of pride swell up in his chest and nodded solemnly. Lestrade cursed under his breath and took out a second pair of cuffs for the unconscious man.

"How long has he been out?" he asked.

"Approximately ten minutes," Sherlock replied. "You should probably try to rouse him now to rule out a concussion. John and I have somewhere to be but we can come by tomorrow to fill out paperwork if you insist."

Lestrade waved his hand absently behind his back and muttered a rough, "yeah, alright. Get out of here."

Sherlock smiled at John and started to walk away with the doctor at his heels. They made it just around the corner when John began to giggle. Sherlock turned to eye him.

"What?" he asked.

"Nothing," John said as two men emerged from a police car and passed them. "You're just impossible."

"I'd go with improbable," Sherlock replied. "Dinner?"

John giggled some more and matched his stride.

"Yeah, starving," he replied with a happy sigh.


	7. Simple As That

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The boys make it to dinner.

The cab dropped them off at a storefront with frosted over glass and a red door. Sherlock stepped forward and rang the bell while John watched. They had grown quiet as they drove and John now didn't know what to say, wasn't even sure how he'd ended up like this, out and about in the middle of the night with a madman, tackling men to the ground.

A small woman opened the door and ushered them in past what looked like an office and then a   
laundry shop and finally to a back room lined in unmatched chairs and tables. She put two hand written lists on one of the tables and said something to Sherlock in Mandarin before turning and leaving the way she came in. John just blinked at Sherlock until the man took a seat and nodded to the chair across from him.

"So this is a restaurant?" he asked as he took the seat and looked down at what he supposed was a menu.

Sherlock pushed his 'menu' forward and leaned back in his seat with his arms crossed. John looked over the front and the back of the poorly laminated sheet of paper and then set it down.

"Try the duck," Sherlock said with a small smile. "You'll like it."

John picked his menu up again and looked it over, as if the word duck might have been there in English somewhere he hadn't thought to look. 

"Sorry, I don't read...whatever this is." He said with a note of irritation, anxiety creeping in and making him wonder again what in the hell he'd been thinking.

"Oh, really, then perhaps you should...try the duck," Sherlock said sarcastically.

John snorted and sat back, instantly drawn out of his head by the amusement. He was just about to say something along the lines of 'you really think you're funny, don't you?' when another woman came out talking in Mandarin and waving something at Sherlock, a folded newspaper it turned out. Sherlock answered and the woman grinned at him before slapping him on the back and leaving.

"So...you know these people," John ventured, picking up the newspaper the woman had left and opening it.

"Mmm," Sherlock replied smoothly. "Solved a case for them a year ago. Good people, better food."

John tossed the newspaper, another thing he couldn't read, to the table and looked at Sherlock with renewed awe.

"How?" he asked, grinning in full and not about to finish what he was asking.

"That's a poor question John, try again," Sherlock replied with a smirk.

John shook his head and fiddled with the sauces on the table between them.

"How do you manage to have random people love you while you utterly piss off the people you're around most of the time? In under a month you've been hit and then nearly hit again by me, yelled at by my girlfriend and, as I hear it, nearly kicked out by a half dozen nurses as well," John exclaimed.

"Well, first of all, they aren't random," Sherlock said, pouring John tea as it was brought to the table, "they're clients, and second of all, I tend to piss people off less when speaking in my non-native tongue."

"Right, so you're nice to people who need something from you," John surmised quite incorrectly.

"No, I seem less rude when talking about a case. My deductions aren't exactly appreciated as water cooler talk," Sherlock admitted. "As you know first hand."

"You were right," John said with sudden hesitance.

"Of course I was. I wouldn't have said it if it wasn't true. I didn't say it to make you upset," Sherlock replied, the statement starting off cocky and ending in a sort of nervous no man's land.

"So why DID you say it?" John countered, hands tearing unconsciously at the paper napkin in front of him.

"Because I saw it," Sherlock answered.

"Simple as that?" John demanded a bit loudly, very obviously unbelieving.

"Yes," Sherlock replied. "Simple. As. That."

"Oh," John whispered.

The first woman came back into the room and had a short conversation with Sherlock before leaving again just as a man with two steaming bowls of soup entered. John's stomach made itself known and he started to eat before he had to think anymore on what Sherlock had just said.


	8. This Is John

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The rest of dinner and a bit of what came after.

John let out an almost filthy groan, head lolling forward as one hand clutched the table. Sherlock's eyes went to his neck, tried to read his pulse but failed, and then down to where his hand held the cheaply painted plyboard.

"This is bloody fantastic," John groaned as Sherlock shifted slightly in his seat and tried to ignore the way the sound had made him, well, interested.

"Of course it is," Sherlock said, trying for disinterest.

John quirked a smile and then took up a piece of the duck with his chopsticks and held it out in front of Sherlock's lips. The taller man's nose scrunched up at the gesture and John waved the chopsticks a bit. 

"I'm not going to eat from your chopsticks like a child," he said, sitting back and crossing his arms.

"You can eat from them however you like as long as you do. It's bloody delicious and you didn't have any of your soup," John replied forcefully.

"Are you my mother now?" Sherlock quipped.

"Don't know what about eating makes you go in that direction," John said, wiggling the small piece of meat once more before giving up and eating it himself. "Do you ever eat?"

"Digestion slows down my brain," Sherlock said flatly even as his fingers reached for the edge of John's plate and grasped a water chestnut.

"Malnutrition will slow it down more," John said, watching the water chestnut be snatched up and lifted to Sherlock's full lips.

He pushed another to the edge of the plate and then a small piece of duck when it was taken. Sherlock looked at it suspiciously and John just murmured 'protein' before going back to eating.

In the following minutes Sherlock took a spring pea and another water chestnut before finally taking some duck as well as his own chopsticks after he realised how hungry he really was. He picked up everything John pushed to the edge of the plate as if on cue.

"So do you do that often, go running after criminals?" John asked as the waiter brought out a small bowl of white rice and set it in front of him.

"As often as possible. Depends on the case, of course. I won't waste my time on anything boring," Sherlock replied, nearly inhaling the rice once John had managed to push some in his direction.

"Seems dangerous," John said, sipping his tea and sitting back to watch Sherlock eat, knowing it was a rare sight.

"It is," Sherlock shot back. "That's the reason you came along when I invited you."

"Yes, why did you invite me?" John asked. "I'd got the impression you thought I was an idiot."

"Idiot? Not completely. You're just stuck, is all. I knew you had potential so I gave it a go. Purely experimental," Sherlock replied smoothly.

The 'not completely' stung but John pushed it aside in favor of the 'you're stuck' and raised an eyebrow.

"Stuck?" he asked, tongue going to the inside of his cheek to press against scarred skin.

"Yes, with Mary," Sherlock replied. "You need a hobby, not a girlfriend. At least not her."

John was starting to feel a little of the previous irritation come back and he poured himself another cup of green tea, his hand unsteady on the handle.

"And you would suggest what, exactly? Running around after criminals?" 

His voice was pinched and Sherlock could tell he was going in the wrong direction but stopping, or at least redirecting, conversations was not his strong point.

"The tremor in your hand went away for a whole of three and a half hours. The moment it returned was when you were reminded of the life you're currently living. You need the adrenalin, you need the danger. So yes, I would suggest running around after criminals." Sherlock spit quickly, stopping shortly before adding, "with me."

John laughed and fidgeted in his seat, slipping the offending hand, tremor and all, into his lap. Sherlock watched his face carefully for a sign of whether what he'd said had got through to him. There was a deep sigh and John shook his head and Sherlock was certain he would say yes.

"I'd better get home," he said instead.

Sherlock's face dropped and he nodded quickly in an attempt to cover it.

"Yes, of course. I'm sure Mary is worried sick," he said.

John went for his wallet but Sherlock explained that the meal would be on the house and walked him out to the kerb. They stood there looking for a cab and John suddenly felt that he should thank the man but didn't know how. He cleared his throat as a cab approached and stuck his hands into his pockets.

"If you ever need backup, I mean, I wouldn't, that is, you could call me," John said.

"I don't have your number," Sherlock replied.

"Oh, of course," John said, quickly pulling out his phone and tapping out a text message. "What's yours?"

Sherlock told him his number and felt his mobile ping in his pocket a second later. He said goodbye to John and waited until he was out of sight to pull the thing from his jacket and look at the screen. He smirked at what he found.

THIS IS JOHN 

He typed a quick response and hailed a cab of his own.

_____

All the lights were on in the flat when John got home and Mary was sitting with David in the kitchen, giggling and whispering. John came in the door and slipped off his shoes and coat and watched them carefully. He felt foolish for wanting her to have noticed that he was gone and even more so because she hadn't. He said hello to David and went to sit in bed, stepping out of his trousers and loosening his tie before removing it and his shirt.

The bed was cold on his legs and he pulled the covers up to his waist before looking at his mobile and smiling.

OBVIOUS. SH

'That prick', John thought. He was such a bloody strange man. John typed out a response and waited to see if there would be a reply.

DO YOU ALWAYS SIGN YOUR TEXT MESSAGES?

A few seconds later he got his answer. Well, sort of.

DO YOU ALWAYS ASK INANE QUESTIONS? SH 

John snorted and slipped down on the bed and under the covers, typing a response and feeling  
like a child staying up past bedtime. Mary and David continued to talk out in the kitchen as he texted and drifted off to sleep.

_____

Sherlock lay in bed trying to go to sleep. He hadn't intended on going into work the following day but now that he knew John didn't hate him...no. No. There was no reason to be happy that John didn't hate him. John wasn't anyone, John was just another person. There had been no connection. John was simply using him for the rush that came along with chasing baddies, he was supplying what John needed. 

Oh, Christ, why had he done that? What had he been thinking? 

That John would come back for more, undoubtedly.

Bugger, what a horrible plan. What an absolutely horrible plan. 

He could stop it, would stop it. Nip it in the bud. Keep John from getting the wrong idea. The wrong idea being that he was someone he'd want to be around. 

It was obviously not true, just look at how dinner had gone! John had tried to bloody feed him. He didn't need to be fed! What a preposterous...oh, he'd eaten, oh, oh, no. 

Perhaps he had it the wrong way round. Perhaps John thought that he was providing what Sherlock needed and was only there to try to subtly care for him. What would be the reason for that? Sure, he was a doctor, caring for people was somewhat inherent, but going so far as to try to feed Sherlock from his own utensil? It was nagging and unsanitary and he absolutely didn't feel like something warmed inside him at the thought that John had noticed he wasn't eating. (The whole idea of something warming in him hinging on the theory that he was cold inside which was just romanticism at its worst.)

Oh....oh, it had to be because he'd cut down Mary so thoroughly. John was going to be nice to him as a thank you. It was a simple transaction.

Sherlock scratched at the back of his neck and several hundred images floated past his vision, notably a cartoon prince being kissed by a cartoon princess after killing a dragon. He pushed them all aside and sat up. Might as well find some experiment to do. Sleep was not on its way.


	9. Admirer

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John and Sherlock get together to fil out paperwork at the Met, giving John respite from a jealous Mary.

Saturday. It was a bloody Saturday and Sherlock couldn't have been more incensed. How his mind had skipped over the fact the night before when it went off gallivanting into dreamland over what the good doctor Watson might say to him the next day he would never know. Interest, at least this kind, was always a burden. His mind was too important to be going off on flights of fancy such as romance. 

Pointless.

He scratched away at his violin and curled his nose up at the thought of romance. He'd been keen enough to avoid it for many years, really only falling ill of the thing once before, the case with Victor Trevor which must not be mentioned, and he wanted it to remain the same. 

What, then, had his heart seen in John Watson that it had immediately clasped onto him and refused to budge. It wasn't his physique, though there was nothing to complain about under those jumpers, of that he was sure. It wasn't his face, handsome though somewhat common in its features, far from exotic or entrancing. It definitely wasn't his mind. What? What had it been?

Just as he was getting to the point where he knew he was being too rough with the bow his mobile chimed, the sound tinny as it flowed through his mind palace to find him in the back, bottom level, elbows deep in the confusion that was John Watson. The bow would thank whomever was texting.

_____

Mary was looking at John over the breakfast table and it was becoming unnerving. He had slept better the night before than he had in months and had hoped to go to the park and see if he could meet up with anyone for a bit of footie. What he hadn't wanted was the elaborate breakfast she'd made and the silence therein. When she sighed as though to speak and then didn't John lost it.

"How is David?" he asked, voice a bit more clipped than he'd intended, but there it was.

"You look different," she said, in lieu of reply, tilting her head to the side as her eyebrows drew together.

"I said, how is David," John responded firmly.

"Oh, that's rich of you, isn't it, John? You're the one that went out after work without telling me. How was your date with Sherlock Holmes anyhow?" she spit back, eyes bright in their fury.

John nearly choked on his tea, setting the cup down a bit harshly and missing the way the tea sloshed out and onto the white tablecloth.

"I didn't have a date with Sherlock," he said once he'd cleared his throat.

"Well, what was it then, that kept you out all night with him and brought you home to me sated and sleepy? You barely batted an eye at another man in your house. What am I to make of that?" Mary hissed, lip curling.

"What are you to make of it? Maybe that I'm secure in our relationship. That I don't think you'll cheat on me, although I seem to be the only one," John said, the last bit a little under his breath.

"The only one! Who besides Sherlock Holmes has said I'm cheating on you?" She demanded, spitting Sherlock's name like a curse. "I'd really like to know!"

"No one. No one else. Look, I'm too tired to do this. I'm going to head out," John said, pushing his chair back and going to stand.

"You'll trust Sherlock Holmes over me?" she added.

John ignored her and went to shower, the pain in his leg making him wince.

"He's courting you, John!" she shouted after him. "Don't be such an idiot!"

John slammed the door to the loo and leaned back against it, breath coming in angry puffs. He hated when she called him an idiot and he realised suddenly that it happened more than he'd like to admit.

He turned on the tap and waited for the water to get painfully hot before stripping off and hopping in. The spray felt like an assault but it was one he was happy for.

Something tight curled in his belly when he thought of what Mary had said, that Sherlock was courting him. It was stupid and untrue and even if he was it wasn't as if he was interested. Even if he left Mary-

Chest tightening  
Breath being draw in painfully

He scrambled from the bath, water pooling at his feet as it dropped off of him, and opened the medicine cabinet. He gripped the small bottle and wrestled it open, taking one pill and swallowing it without water as he leaned against the wall and slowly slid to the floor.

_____

John finally made it out of the shower feeling a bit dazed but better. As he went to put his clothes on he noticed his mobile by the bed blinking with an incoming message. He went and swiped the screen.

WE SHOULD GO TO THE MET TODAY. LESTRADE STILL WANTS US TO FILL OUT PAPERWORK. SH

Something warm bloomed in his chest and he grinned, not really knowing why. Filling out paperwork had never been so enticing.

_____

Sherlock met John in front of NSY a half hour later, getting out of the cab a bit dramatically, which John noticed was just his way. He strode towards John and gave him a slight nod.

"John," he said.

"Sherlock," John replied. "I suppose now is when we go in and get scolded."

Sherlock smirked, shrugged his shoulders.

"The man has to get his jollies somewhere."

"Well, then, let's go indulge him," John said with a smile.

They walked into the building, John taking almost two steps to Sherlock's one to match his pace. They made it to Lestrade's office and as Sherlock knocked John fell into parade's rest, hands tucked behind his back. Lestrade opened the door and John followed Sherlock into the room.

"Okay, boys, let's get this over with," he said, voice strained as always and bags under his eyes giving away how little sleep he'd got in the past week.

Sherlock took a seat at the desk and John sat next to him, picking up a biro and starting on the thick stack of paperwork. Sherlock did the same until Lestrade left the room. He leaned close and whispered conspiratorially.

"I think I'm going to sneak out the window."

John looked up and then grinned.

"Just fill out the damn paperwork," John replied fondly, and when had he become fond of Sherlock?

He swallowed roughly and got back to attempting to explain the chase they'd been involved in the day before. 

Lestrade was leaning against the wall listening through the cracked door. The sound of John's soft voice and Sherlock's sigh was enough to tell him he was in deep trouble. Sherlock Holmes, it appeared, had an admirer. God help them.


	10. What Are You Doing John?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John goes home after filling out paperwork with Sherlock and tells Mary that they need to have a talk. Things go about as well as expected.

When John finally got home three hours later he wasn't exactly shocked to find Mary waiting with a frown on her face. She stared at him as he took off his shoes and jacket, the look making the smile that had wormed its way onto his face so many hours before disappear. He cleared his throat and went to sit across from her at the coffee table.

"We need to talk," he said.

"Yes, we do. Out with Sherlock again, were you?" she replied in a biting manner.

"You honestly care that I'm not mad at him for what he said to you?" he asked.

"It's not even that," she replied. "It's the way you look at him,"

"I don't know what you're talking about," he stammered, cheeks already turning red.

"Is it because he's a man? Is that just something you need?" she asked almost teasingly.

"Bloody stop it! This isn't about him! This isn't falling apart because of him," John hissed. "Don't you see it? You don't really even like me. Everything I do seems to annoy you. Your friends hate me. I feel like the only reason you stay is because you can push me around!"

Mary started to say something but he stopped her with a raised finger, for once having the courage to stand up to her.

"And I know you're sleeping with David," he added.

She made a frustrated sound and stood up, going to pace in front of the window and think of some rebuttal, and John's stomach sank. The comment about David had been a bluff. He was really hoping that she'd deny it right away, if not because it wasn't true then at least to try not to hurt him. 

He didn't know when he did it but he found himself stomping to the bedroom with Mary on his heels.

"John! What are you doing, John?" she shouted as he pulled his old army duffel from the closet.

"Do you really have to ask?" he replied bitterly.

John could almost feel the change in the air, or maybe he just saw it in the way her body seemed to rearrange itself from the corner of his eye. She stuck her shoulders back and cocked her head to the side in a move that made John physically uncomfortable. When she spoke her voice was different.

"So you think you're going to leave?" she asked. "Tell me, John, where will you go? To live with your drunkard of a sister and her mess of a wife? Or maybe you can move into the nursing home with your mother? Oh, no! You can go live with Sherlock! I'm sure he'd love to take you in, poor broken little John."

"Stop it," he hissed, standing from where he'd been crouched and wincing. "Don't say that, I'm not broken!"

"How's the leg, John? Hmm? Getting a bit painful, is it? How do you think he'll feel when he finds out you can barely keep a meal down and you scream in your sleep? How long before he hates you?" She replied, eyes bright with a sick sort of glee.

The five steps it took to get to the medicine cabinet in the loo seemed to take forever. The bottle popped open and John didn't even bend down the find the cap, taking one of the pills and setting the open bottle back into the cabinet. Mary's eyes were shocked when he returned to the place he'd been and stuffed more of his things into the duffel. Her tactic seemed to change.

"John, you can't leave me," she pleaded, and God, was it almost real. "I'll stop seeing David. We'll start trying for a baby. I'll be better, I promise."

"I'm starting to think I never even knew you," John said, sweat forming on his brow.

"Please don't leave," she added. "I might be pregnant."

John's face blanched and he gripped the wall.

"We haven't had sex in three months, Mary," he replied through clenched teeth.

She sighed, a long gust of air flowing from her lungs, and actually clicked her tongue.

"Well, it was worth a try," she said lightly. "I'm going to David's, have all your things out by tomorrow evening."

John sat back on the floor with his shoulder resting on the side of the bed and watched her leave, the whole experience feeling like a dream. There was a whooshing in his ears and he closed his eyes for a moment, surprised he could open them again. Christ, what was he going to do?


	11. Peculiar

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John goes back to work.

Monday morning came and John wasn't ready for it. The hotel he'd been staying in had run out of shampoo and he'd managed to misplace the bottle he got from Tesco before he was about to shower. He cleaned it with soap instead and it felt slightly gritty because of it. Slightly gritty and a bit too long. 

He stood in front of the mirror for a long time looking at his reflection and wondering what the hell had happened to him. He didn't feel like himself and he was starting to wonder when he last had. 'Running after criminals', his brain supplied, and it was true. But when before that? Did the sort of normal he had with Mary ever feel right? Was he asking too much to be without her?

It wasn't the first time he'd wondered if she was as good as he could ever get. She was stable, at least, and wanted to be with him. Although now...

He picked up his toothbrush and spread toothpaste on it while trying to remember the last good relationship he'd been in, the last time he felt like he'd found the one. The thought hit him mid-brush, he hadn't. He hadn't ever felt like that. Even when he was with Mary it had been him trying to convince himself. He knew that, even then. 

The last time he'd been happy, then. Well, that had to be the Major. 

The thought pulled something painfully tight in his stomach. When was the last time he'd talked to James? It had been much too long. He would have to send a letter his way, if he was still living out there in the wild like he had been when he was finally sent home.

He'd been in touch when he first came back, they'd talked twice if John was remembering correctly, but that had been almost a year prior. Maybe he'd like some company. That thought made his chest hurt. Christ. No. Stop. James had been clear enough when John had been sent home. There was nothing there anymore. Nothing to salvage.

_____

By the time John was out the door he was already late. The times were off on the tube schedule at the hotel and he didn't have the money to pay for a cab, especially now that he was to find a place to live on his pension and clinic fee alone. That reminded him that he'd need to talk to Mary about the fact that he wouldn't be paying next month's rent for her.

"You missed a spot shaving," came a deep voice beside him.

John looked to his left and felt a smile growing at the petulant look on his new friend's face, if Sherlock could be called that. He reached up to rub his hand across his jaw, searching for the spot Sherlock had mentioned. The taller man just sighed and gripped his wrist, moving his hand to right below his left ear and doing a shite job of hiding the fact that he was taking his pulse.

"You don't happen to have a razor, do you?" John asked, fingers scrubbing over the spot of one and a half day's growth that would surely be noticed by his patients.

"Come along," Sherlock said, letting go of John's wrist and walking down the long hallway.

John jogged to catch up and then kept his pace, not sure what to say. Once they were in the elevator and headed to the basement Sherlock broke the silence.

"You're looking for a flat," he said, eyes straight ahead and voice calm. "I play the violin at odd hours and I don't talk for days at a time. Other than that you know my idiosyncrasies first hand, so my personality won't be an issue."

"An issue with what?" John asked. "And yes, I left her."

"You can move in today after work," Sherlock replied.

"Sorry," John said, bewildered, just as the elevator doors opened and Sherlock took several long strides away from him, "I can what?"

"Move in today. Really, John, your listening skills need work. One would think a doctor would be better at that sort of thing," Sherlock said as he led John to the supply cabinet in the morgue's dressing room.

"You want me to move in with you?" John asked, eyebrows raised.

"I have an unused bedroom in my flat and you are quite suddenly without a home. The hotel you're staying in is cheap and you don't think you'll be able to find anything other than a rundown one bedroom with the fact that you just paid the rent at the beginning of last week as well as the utilities. You've no money for a deposit and you won't go to your family for help, your mother being in a nursing home and your only sibling being an alcoholic. I can offer you a place to stay without the need for a deposit and you can see how you like it. Perhaps you won't even want to move out." Sherlock said as he rummaged through the supply closet and came out with a single use razor and a can of shaving cream.

He held the items out for John and tried his hand at a comforting smile. It didn't seem to go over very well as John just stared at him.

"There's a mirror at the end of the lockers," he said as he pushed the razor and foam more firmly into John's hands.

"Oh, oh, yes. Thank you," John said, blinking a few times and going to the mirror.

Sherlock went and stood beside him, watching carefully as John shook the can and sprayed a small bit of foam onto his fingers before spreading it over the unshaven area and slipping off the cover of the razor.

"Is there a flannel somewhere? Or a towel?" John asked.

Sherlock left to find one and John shook his head. Sherlock had offered him a room in his own bloody flat. It was hard not to giggle after what Mary had said. It was also an offer he couldn't really refuse, wasn't it? He lifted his chin and shaved the side of his face carefully. Sherlock joined him again and held out a small cloth when he was ready for it.

"The rent will be within your reach, I can assure you," the genius said. "And then you'll be able to join me on cases more easily."

John looked over at him and chewed his lip. 

Sherlock looked down at his lip and then his hand at his side with the razor in it before taking another step forward and doing something very peculiar. It was peculiar even for him, he had to admit. He didn't usually touch people and even though there was a bit of cotton between them it was still very intimate a move. His eyes never left John's as he reached his hand up to wipe away the excess shaving cream.

"Are you going to towel me off each morning?" John asked nervously.

Sherlock's eyes flitted to the floor and he moved away a bit.

"Not that it wasn't...because it was...I mean, yes. I'll move in," John said clumsily.

Sherlock's eyes shot back up and he smiled briefly before schooling his features and nodding curtly. John smiled and nodded back, binned the razor and went to put the cream back where Sherlock had found it. That time Sherlock was the one to follow, standing a bit shocked at first before turning and walking after John down the hallway, cloth tucked securely in his pocket.


	12. You've Missed A Spot

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Domesticity at its worste, or finest.

By the end of the day John was exhausted. He was done with patients and working on logging everything from the day on his computer, his slow typing becoming more so due to his entire body seeming drained of energy, when there was a knock on his office door. Thinking it must be one of his nurses he quickly told them to enter. The person who walked through the door was decidedly not a nurse, that John could tell by his attire alone. No nurse could afford a three piece suit, let alone one of that caliber. John straightened his back and cleared his throat.

"Can I help you?" he asked, and then, "the admin offices are down the hall to your right."

"I'm not here for admin, John," the man said, closing the door behind himself and scraping something from his shoe with an expensive looking umbrella.

"Sorry, do I know you?" John asked, confusion etched in his brow.

"Not as of yet," the man replied. "I am sure, however, that we can come to some sort of agreement."

John felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand up and moved his chair back from the desk and crossed his legs.

"You barely know Sherlock Holmes and yet you have already got into at least one fist fight because of him. The punch you landed on him notwithstanding," the man continued. "What about him, do you think, has you interested enough to break up a long term relationship with someone you could have easily spent the rest of your life with?"

John stood and sneered at the man.

"Look, I don't know who you are-" John began.

"Simply an interested party. I'm not a danger, I assure you."

"You'll have to forgive me for saying so but your assurances mean nothing to me," John hissed. "Now I'm asking you to leave."

"How is Sherlock?" the man asked, looking at his fingernails. 

"That's none of your business," John said defensively, hand going to the waist of his trousers out of habit and finding he, of bloody course, wasn't carrying his gun.

"I can make it my business, for a small fee. How much, Dr Watson, would it take to change your mind on the matter?"

John's chest puffed out and he took a menacing step forward. "Get out."

"I see the action Sherlock provided has already healed the pain in your leg. Tell me, how does such a respectable man as yourself end up with someone so nearly out of control?"

_____

John was dabbing at his knuckles with an ice pack when Sherlock came into his office ten minutes later. Sherlock flung himself into the seat across from his desk and looked him in the eye until he returned the glance.

"I thought I was the only one you liked to hit," Sherlock said in a flat tone.

"Surprisingly enough I appear to have a bit of an anger problem," John replied bitterly. "Had a visit from a friend of yours today."

"A friend?" Sherlock asked, looking as confused as John had when the posh man showed up in his office earlier.

"Or stalker. Tried to pay me to snoop on you," John said, setting the ice down on his desk and stretching his fingers with a wince.

"Did you take the money?" Sherlock asked, sitting forward on his chair so far the back legs lifted off the ground.

"Of course not!" John replied, less than amused that Sherlock had to ask.

"Pity," Sherlock said, sitting back in the chair with a loud clack. "We could have split the fee."

John's eyebrows drew up. "You're not at all bothered by the fact that this man asked me to spy on you?"

"I garner a great deal of interest. Let's go to the hotel and get your things and then we'll find you something to eat. I'm sure you're hungry by now." Sherlock answered honestly.

John shook his head but followed Sherlock out of his office and towards the elevator.

_____

After lugging all of his belongings from the storage locker and checking out of the hotel John was completely spent. Surprisingly enough Sherlock had decided to take on the ordering of food and making of tea himself and John was soon enough enjoying chow mien and a warm beverage in a comfortable chair across from the lanky genius.

"Thank you for the food," John said between bites.

"You'd be passing out soon if I hadn't. I'd hate to have to carry you down the stairs," Sherlock said dismissively.

John chuckled and went back to eating and something turned over in Sherlock's stomach. It was still amazing to him that John seemed to find his cold exterior amusing, charming even. He really had no idea what to do with the man.

John sighed and set down the box on the table before pushing it across and looking pointedly at Sherlock. Sherlock rolled his eyes but soon enough picked up the box and ate in a resigned fashion. John let the relaxation of being in a warm building without a cockroach in sight flow over him and rested his head against the back of the chair.

"I won't be carrying you up the stairs either," Sherlock said. "And if you sleep there you'll have a crick in your neck."

"Mmm, nag away," John said happily.

Sherlock scrunched up his nose and took another bite of the chow mien as John drifted. It was about as close to comfortable domesticity he'd ever come and he didn't know what to make of it.

_____

The next morning before work John was surprised to find Sherlock watching him shave. The taller man looked away when he was spotted and cleared his throat.

"I take it you've found the flannels," he said, refusing to meet John's eyes.

John made his last pass over his jaw and laid his razor on the edge of the sink. He grinned playfully at Sherlock and held his chin up.

"Well?" he asked when Sherlock still didn't look up.

When he did look up there was a slight flush across his neck and his eyes were wide. The reaction, the very fact that there was a reaction, made John want to tease him a bit more.

"Come on, clean me up," he pressed.

Sherlock sighed and scrunched up his nose, making John giggle, as he slipped behind him and grabbed a random flannel and laid it on the sink. John's giggling stopped abruptly when Sherlock moved up against his back and reached one hand around to grip his chin while he picked up the razor with the other. John's eyebrows drew together and Sherlock rolled his eyes.

"I'm not going to kill you," he said as he moved John's chin higher to tighten his skin. "You've missed a spot. I don't know how you always manage to."

John swallowed deeply and Sherlock drew the razor down his neck before dropping it into the soapy water and picking the flannel up. There was something fluttering in his chest and he wondered absently when this had turned so bloody intimate. Sherlock wet the edge of the flannel and carefully cleaned all the excess shaving cream from John's neck and face. When he finally let his hands drop John just watched him in the mirror.

Sherlock fidgeted before going to walk from the room. John gripped his arm.

"I could, I mean, I'm fairly good with a razor. If you'd like," he said, voice tense.

Sherlock looked him in the eye, obviously searching for something, and then nodded slightly.

"I'll shower first," he said.

John smiled weakly and walked out into the sitting room as he heard the tap in the tub being tuned on, the old pipes groaning.

What in the actual hell was he thinking? He'd never shaved anyone before, he wasn't a bloody barber. Why had he offered? What the ACTUAL HELL? 

He paced back and forth as he felt adrenalin starting to flow through his bloodstream. The way he felt when Sherlock had gripped his shoulders was why. He felt giddy. He was turning into a teenager again. It was insane to be so affected by such a small touch and yet he was. Jesus, when Sherlock had gripped his chin and slowly extended his neck he thought for sure his heart would burst from his chest.

He went and sat at the table and waited for the shower to turn off. He should just get it over with and not offer again. He had precise hands, had trained his right to shave without any issues after his left shoulder was injured. It wasn't rocket science. He'd be fine. It would be fine.

The shower turned off and he heard Sherlock get out and run the tap of the sink. For a moment he thought that maybe Sherlock had forgot he had offered and instead of relief he felt sort of let down. 

"John?" Sherlock said from the loo, steam rolling out the now open door.

John cleared his throat and walked over to find Sherlock standing with a towel slung around his waist and glossy damp hair. He swallowed and felt a surge of arousal in his gut. Sherlock was gorgeous.

"Sit on the toilet lid," he said as he entered the small room.

Sherlock did as he was asked and John sprayed out some shaving cream into his hand and carefully spread it across Sherlock's face and down his neck. His hands wanted to go further down but he shook it off and rinsed them instead before fetching Sherlock's razor from the cabinet and directing him to raise his chin.

The first long drag of the blade had John nervous. If he cut him he'd look like an idiot. 

The second came easier.

By the time he was done Sherlock's eyes were closed and he looked to be thoroughly enjoying it.

John picked up another flannel and wet it before running it across Sherlock's upper lip and over his cheeks. Sherlock sighed and he unfolded and refolded the flannel to get a clean bit before dragging it down his neck and letting it linger just at the taller man's pulse point.

"I got it all," he said, voice coming out a bit more strained than he'd truly like.

Sherlock breathed in and opened his eyes. He just stared at John for a long few moments, which felt like hours, before taking the flannel from John's hand and letting his thumb brush across the soft skin on the back of his hand.

"Thank you, John," he said with forced calm. "You are, as always, perfectly useful."

John stuttered out a laugh and relaxed a bit.

"Good to know," he said before turning to leave.

Sherlock sat still with the flannel in his lap until John left and then moved to his room through the adjoining door. Once said door was closed he collapsed against the wall, letting his towel fall to the ground and gripping his bollocks.

John, oh, John Watson. He was going to be the end of him. 

He quickly released himself and got dressed, thinking of his brother eating cake to get the image of the doctor touching his chest out of his head.


	13. Bits And Pieces

Sherlock insisted they get a cab to work due to the fact that 'people are idiots, John, and the tube is full of people'. John was perfectly fine with it as Sherlock said he'd pay and it was mostly about the money. They sat close together in the back of the cab as it made its was through the crowded streets to St. Bart's. John finished his toast as Sherlock simply picked at the edge of his, breakfast being eaten on the run since they'd spend an exorbitant amount of time shaving each other like some bizarre romance novel.

When they made it Sherlock was out of the cab and well on his way into the building without paying. John sighed and slipped the driver the correct amount before climbing from the cab and jogging to catch up. Although Sherlock didn't look up he did hold the door open with one hand as he tapped away on his mobile with the other.

"You were meant to pay the driver, you know," John said as he slipped past the taller man and into the brightness of the long entry hall.

"Mmm," Sherlock murmured, following John as though he were truly immersed in something very interesting on the mobile.

"Are you even listening?" John asked as they got into the elevator and he pressed not only his own floor button but Sherlock's as well, not sure why the man had joined him as he was going up and not to the basement.

"You're poor and it's made you grumpy," Sherlock said absently.

"Right, exactly what l said," John replied with a snort.

The elevator door opened and John took two steps out before turning and holding the door.

"Want to meet for lunch around two?" he asked.

"Will you make me eat?" Sherlock replied with a small smirk.

"You can eat off my plate," John replied.

Sherlock glanced up and raised an eyebrow.

"It won't be much," John added.

Sherlock shrugged and pushed the 'door close' button and John moved his hand. John didn't know why he stood there after the elevator had obviously started its descend. He couldn't seem to pull himself away from it.

"John," Mike said from his left, tone jolly as always.

"Oh, Mike, hello," John replied, shaking himself a bit and turning to smile at the man.

"I heard you and Mary called it quits," Mike said. "Sorry to hear it."

John felt is jaw clench and tried to smile. Mike immediately looked like he regretted starting the conversation. 

"It's for the best," John said.

"I'm sure it is," Mike replied. "Have you found a place to stay yet? My guest bed is always open."

John swallowed and nodded before clearing his throat, not sure why it felt like he was telling a dirty little secret.

"I've moved in with Sherlock," he said, and then quickly added, "there's a second bedroom. We aren't dating."

Mike just smiled and nodded before turning away with a quick goodbye and John sighed deeply. 

_____

Before he knew it he'd seen ten patients and his stomach was starting to growl. He put away the most current patient files and was relieved to find Sherlock in his doorway.

"Shall we go?" Sherlock asked. "I know a good kebab place."

John smiled and slipped into his jacket. 

"Perfect," he said. "Saw Mike this morning."

Sherlock made a small noncommittal noise and shrugged as they walked to the elevator.

"Haven't seen Mary," John added.

Sherlock made another noise and pushed the button for the doors to close, nearly cutting off a man's foot and making him curse loudly. John's mouth fell open at the scene and Sherlock moved suddenly into his space, standing closer to him than he needed in the empty elevator. John swallowed audibly and shifted to his left foot to relieve some of the pain in his leg.

"Have you, um, had a good day so far?" John asked.

"I think Molly will let me bring home a bag of toes. She keeps asking me to have coffee with her. I don't think she realises that it most definitely will not happen," Sherlock said with a sigh before looking over at John's neck.

"Oh, you, uh, you don't want to date her?" John asked just as the elevator came to a stop.

"No," Sherlock said, mouth a perfect circle. "Women aren't really my area."

John's steps faltered but he soon caught back up with the lanky bastard as he exited the main building and started down the street.

"So...men are more your area?" John asked nervously, hope leaking around the edges of his words.

Sherlock stopped abruptly and looked him up and down. 

John nearly ran into him and added a quick, "Which is fine, by the way."

"I know it's fine," Sherlock shot back a bit defensively.

"Ok. Ok. So you're single, then," John said as Sherlock began walking again.

Sherlock nodded curtly and opened the door to a small restaurant. John rushed in and got in line behind perhaps ten people.

The room was painted red and decorated with large posters for bands John had never heard of but the scent of sizzling lamb had John forgetting his surroundings and thinking only of his hunger. His hunger and the fact that Sherlock was single. Why that would be something he cared about he didn't know.

Sherlock was pressed to his back in the small entryway and John could feel his breath on his neck. It was distracting in quite a wonderful way. The small bit of contact felt so good that he was tempted to turn around and rest against Sherlock's chest with his arms in his large coat. Instead he closed his eyes and bit his lip until Sherlock nudged him to let him know the line had moved.

Soon enough they had ordered and were eating from small paper boats while leaning against the wall outside. The food was hot and spicy and John was more than happy for it in the cold afternoon air. He was also surprised to find that Sherlock had ordered himself something, although he was really only moving it around so it looked as though he was eating it.

"Is there anything to do in this town if you're single?" John asked once he'd eaten about half of his kebab.

"How should I know?" Sherlock said, sounding a bit offended at the notion that he would know where to pick someone up.

"You said you were single, I just assumed-" John began.

"Well don't. Don't just assume," Sherlock interrupted.

"Sorry," John said, looking at Sherlock to see how upset he was. 

What he found looked like embarrassment rather than anger, the genius had a blush that made it all the way to the tips of his ears and was looking at the ground intently. John relaxed a bit and went back to eating. Some people didn't date. Some people didn't have those kinds of feelings. It wasn't the end of the world.

_____

"It's the end of the world!" Sherlock shouted as he flung himself onto the sofa three weeks later.

They'd been living together long enough for John to realise it as Sherlock's particular brand of exaggeration and nothing to be worried over. He simply continued to type up the case they'd just finished and sipped his tea.

"There was supposed to be at least one horrifically mutilated body! After all that work! John, I think I'm having a breakdown! Something's definitely wrong with me! They can't just tell me there will be a mutilated body and not give me one! It's false advertising!" Sherlock shouted to the heavens.

"Last time I checked you can't sue serial killers for false advertising. Lestrade will fine the hell out of him but I think you'll just have to deal with it," John said calmly.

"But, John-" Sherlock began.

"Don't 'but, John' me. You're an adult and you'll have to deal with the disappointment. Perhaps it'll be tempered by the fact that no one was actually killed. That is a good thing, in case you didn't remember," John replied.

"Good for who?" Sherlock demanded angrily.

"For Christ's sake, Sherlock! It's good for everyone!" John hissed, finally setting down his laptop and looking Sherlock in the eye.

He was about to give him a piece of his mind when Sherlock's mobile rang, yes rang, and the genius looked at it dumbfounded. He was so used to texting that it seemed that for a second he'd forgot that it had an altogether different use. The moment passed and he answered it quickly as John stared him down.

"What can I do for you?" he asked.

John watched him as whatever was going on with the phone conversation caused his eyes to brighten. He sat up and then stood before beginning to pace and mutter yes over and over. John rolled his eyes and got up to slip back into his shoes when Sherlock motioned for him to join him on his way out the door. By the time the two of them were in a cab John was done being upset at his friend's seemingly cold demeanor and was itching to know where they were going.

"That was Lestrade," Sherlock explained. "The suspect has been murdered."

John gaped. "The suspect? You mean the man we found out hadn't murdered anyone has been murdered themselves?"

The corner of Sherlock's mouth twitched and John wondered exactly how far into hell they would be traveling that night.

"Murdered and mutilated," Sherlock replied with dark, and, John supposed well hidden, glee.


	14. Nothing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock solves the case and John gets a bit dirty.

John would have been more likely to show his awe of Sherlock's deductive reasoning if he weren't currently pressing a man covered in blood to a wall with his entire body. He wished Sherlock had the common sense not to gloat about the fact that he'd been right all along until the man was properly cuffed and less of an imminent threat. Sherlock, of course, was too high on adrenalin and knowledge to be talked down.

"I told you, John, I told you!" he exclaimed as the second suspect in the case pressed his bloody forehead to John's and spat directly into John's ear.

"I swear, Sherlock, I'll commend you on this at a later time!" John said in a rather agitated manner. "For now I need you to put that brain of yours to good use and find something to tie this bastard up with."

Sherlock grinned and preened a bit and went to kneel down.

"Not my bloody shoelaces, you git!" John barked.

Sherlock shrugged and went to rummage through some drawers while the killer, erm, second killer, continued to squirm. John took the chance now that Sherlock was out of sight to be a little not good and elbow the man roughly in the rib cage. All fine and dandy as far as he was concerned, the arsehole did spit in his ear after all. The man whined loudly but stopped his attempts to get away.

"I was a Captain in the Army. You're not the first person to think they can get away with being obnoxious," John said in a rough voice.

The man simply wheezed as Sherlock came back into the room.

"Legs first, please," John said as he rubbed at his itchy, and undoubtedly bloody, ear with his shoulder.

Sherlock knelt and quickly did up the man's ankles and John spun him around so Sherlock could tie his wrists together with some sort of extension cord. When that was done John was finally able to let go and take a step back as the man crumbled and slid to the floor.

"Can I tell you now?" Sherlock asked, bouncing on the balls of his feet.

John chuckled and nodded before walking to the loo to get something to flush his ear with. 

"It was all due to his shoes. I knew I'd seen that particular print somewhere else, it only took a while for me to remember. Lestrade had given me a file a few months ago with several crime scene photos in it. Unsolved murder. Turned out to be this man's ex wife," Sherlock explained.

John, head in the sink, couldn't help but exclaim how amazed he was, a muffled 'genius' heard over the tap. Sherlock's chest filled with pride and he walked into the loo to see the inevitable look of awe on John's face. 

"You really are brilliant," John said. 

Sherlock grabbed a towel off the rack and rubbed the side of John's head with it vigorously to dry his hair. John stood still and let him, eyes clenched closed. When Sherlock's hands stopped moving John opened his eyes and smiled up at him. They heard sirens and stomping up the stairs as Sherlock ran his hand through John's hair to straighten it.

"Sherlock?" Lestrade yelled from the entry.

John licked his lips and locked eyes with the taller man for a bit longer than he knew was simply friendly and then nodded towards the door. Sherlock sighed and went to talk to the Detective Inspector.

_____

It took three hours to finish paperwork and John was drifting off in the cab on the way home. Sherlock watched his head loll forward and wrestled with the part of him that told him to grip the man by the shoulder and pull him to his chest. It wouldn't do to make John uncomfortable.

They arrived outside 221 and Sherlock nudged John while he paid the driver then helped him from the cab and up the stairs, nodding to Mrs H on the way up and trying to ignore the way she smiled tight-lipped at him.

"I think you've put on a stone," Sherlock said as he assisted John in removing his jacket.

"Have not," John said sleepily.

"You've got blood on your neck," Sherlock said.

John sighed and visibly deflated before nodding and walking towards the loo with Sherlock on his heels. He turned on the tap and looked at himself in the mirror before gripping the sides of the sink and slumping forward. When Sherlock stood behind him he had a flashback of the man shaving him so many weeks before.

"What are you doing?" he asked as Sherlock moved up behind him.

"Getting ready to clean off the blood before you fall asleep standing up," Sherlock said dismissively.

He grabbed a small flannel and reached his hand between John's side and arm to run it under the warm water.

"You don't have to-" John began.

Sherlock took another step forward and reached his other hand around John to lather the flannel and turned off the tap, effectively boxing him in and pressing them together front to back. John couldn't help the way his eyes slipped closed and he sighed happily, whether it was to do with how tired he was or the warmth of Sherlock's torso pressed to his he wouldn't yet say.

The first drag of the flannel across his neck was too soft, not pulling away any of the dried blood and eliciting a small giggle from the shorter man.

"Stand still," Sherlock said in false sternness.

John clenched his jaw and nodded as Sherlock pressed the flannel more firmly and started to scrub.

"This is nice," John said, not at all meaning to.

"What is, John?" Sherlock asked as he cleaned out the flannel went back to scrubbing.

"I don't know, it's just, it's nice," John said nervously. "The water's warm."

Sherlock hummed and finished cleaning John's neck before setting the flannel down and grabbing a dry towel. He made a disapproving sound when John went to grab for it and dried John's neck himself.

"Sherlock," John said when the towel was moved away and he felt the taller man begin to take a step back.

"Yes, John?" Sherlock asked, stalling his movements.

"Don't leave just yet," John said, refusing to open his eyes.

Sherlock's body went stiff for a moment before he let his chin rest on John's shoulder and hesitantly wrapped his arms around the Doctor's waist. He waited for John to object, to say he'd gone too far, to remind him they weren't dating. Instead John simply relaxed against him and hummed happily. Sherlock felt he was very close to breaking.

The thought was yanked from his mind when John slowly turned in his arms and looked up at him.

"What are you doing?" Sherlock asked, voice tight.

"Nothing," John said, the word sounding quite a bit like 'everything' as he lay his face against Sherlock's neck.

Sherlock swallowed and watched himself in the mirror as he began to feel John's hot breath on his neck. It was far from nothing.


	15. Only You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John keeps falling asleep. It's time to get him to bed.

"John," Sherlock murmured after a long while.

"Hmm?" John said sleepily, voice muffled against Sherlock's neck.

"I think we'd better get you to bed," Sherlock replied, hand venturing up into the short hair at the base of John's skull.

"Yeah," John said with a yawn, "probably."

After a few more long moments and John's breath beginning to even out again Sherlock smiled, turned John around, and took his hand. John blinked awake but didn't protest when he was led to Sherlock's bed and made to sit on the edge. Sherlock slowly unbuttoned the Doctor's shirt and helped him out of it before kneeling to unlace his shoes and slip them and his socks from his feet. His denims were next and John felt his cock stirring as Sherlock pulled them down his legs and folded them carefully.

He watched as Sherlock removed his own shirt and shoes but looked away when he removed his trousers. Sherlock went to the side of the bed and climbed under the covers, hoping that John would get the hint and slip under with him. 

He heard John clear his throat and thought for a second the man was going to leave to go to his own room. Instead he removed his vest and got into bed, laying on his back for a second before sighing like he'd come to a particularly difficult decision and rolling onto his side to rest against Sherlock's back.

Sherlock was completely still for a long time, body rigid and stressed, before relaxing and letting John move closer to wrap an arm around his waist. It took a while for him to get the courage up to lift his hand to brush across John's knuckles gently. He felt John nose at the back of his neck slightly before slipping off to sleep. He stayed up for at least an hour going over what it felt like to have someone hold him.

_____

When John woke the next day Sherlock wasn't in bed with him. He stretched and rolled over, rubbing at his eyes and marveling at the fact that he'd slept through the night without waking once. He reached his hand to touch the place Sherlock had been in the bed and found the sheet cool beneath his fingers. 'Best get up,' he thought.

Sherlock was in the kitchen looking through the eyepiece of his microscope. And fiddling with a random biro. He lifted the end to his lips and chewed absently as John walked up behind him to start the kettle.

"Tea?" John asked, looking over at Sherlock's back and getting the sudden urge to ruffle his hair, an urge he ignored.

"Mmm," Sherlock said, teeth worrying the pen, mind spinning around one thing and one thing alone.

John Watson. John Watson wanted to hold him. John Watson wanted to bloody spoon him in bed and nuzzle his neck. John Watson wanted to make him tea and toast and make him eat it.

"Sherlock, you in there?" John said with a smile on his face.

Sherlock looked up to find a mug and piece of toast held in front of his face. He breathed deeply and took both of them, his eyes never leaving John's.

"You alright?" John asked.

Sherlock nodded curtly and took a small sip of his tea. John chuckled and sat in the seat across from him.

"What have we got on today?" John asked, sort of hoping that they would have a Saturday off for once, the last three being filled with cases.

"Nothing much," Sherlock replied. "Might have a client after lunch."

"Oh?" John asked. "How did they hear about you."

"Saw the photos from the case two weeks ago," Sherlock replied with a sour look. He never did like being photographed.

"I told you the publicity would do you good," John said with a smile.

Sherlock rolled his eyes and went back to whatever he was looking at.

"I've been meaning to ask," John said. 

Sherlock felt something clench in his stomach and his jaw tensed.

"Do you just work at the hospital to get free body parts?" John asked.

Sherlock tried to hide his smile by rolling his eyes but it didn't work quite as well as he would have hoped. John poked him with his toes and sat back comfortably in his seat to drink his tea.

_____

Their client was a woman. An attractive woman. 

They'd had clients before, a handful in the last three weeks, and it hadn't been a problem. Having strangers in their home didn't seem to bother either of them too much. That was before, of course. 

Before touching and holding each other. Before sleeping in the same bed and flirting over breakfast. 

It was in that strange time between the shaving incident, as John liked to refer to it in his mind, and the night prior. John had stuck by his plan and not delved into the touching game with Sherlock in that time. He thought it was for the best, had the notion Sherlock didn't date. That notion was slowly slipping away, and with it the last string of sanity for Sherlock, it seemed.

"Out!" he shouted at the poor woman.

"Sherlock," John hissed. "What the hell's the matter with you?"

"I don't want the case," Sherlock replied petulantly.

"But, Mr Holmes, you haven't heard it yet!" the client exclaimed, tears gathering and threatening to fall down her red cheeks.

"I don't care. I can read it on you and it's boring, just like you. Leave immediately," Sherlock replied as he stood and went to hold the door open.

John tried to apply some sort of apology but the woman was crying as she left and seemed unable to hear anything he said as he walked her down the stairs. When he had closed the front door behind her he slumped against the wall for a second to gather himself then stomped up the stairs and confronted Sherlock.

"You were a real prick just now!" he said sternly. "What do you have to say for yourself-"

John was cut off by Sherlock quickly closing the space between them and rubbing his face along the Doctor's neck. John squirmed to get away but Sherlock began mouthing at the junction of shoulder and neck and a moan fell from his lips as he gave up completely.

"She was hitting on you," Sherlock said between nips and licks.

"She really wasn't," John said, already breathless.

"I don't want you to date her," Sherlock said, hands grasping John's hips tightly. "Her or anyone else."

John shook his head and hissed as Sherlock's nails bit into his skin.

"Christ! Fine, of bloody course!" he panted. 

"Only me," Sherlock said nervously, the words coming out more like a question than intended.

John pulled his face back and looked him in the eye. 

"Only you," he said calmly. "I promise, only you."


	16. I've Got You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fucking finally. Also, fucking, finally.

"It's okay, I'm right here," John whispered, running his thumb across Sherlock's cheek.

Sherlock's eyes drifted closed and John leaned forward to press their lips together.

"John," Sherlock said after they'd pulled apart.

"Tell me to stop and I will," John said, hand sliding into thick curls.

A flush had made it onto Sherlock's cheeks and he shook his head in a jerky movement. "Don't stop."

John pushed forward and sealed their lips together again, tongue slipping into Sherlock's mouth before sucking Sherlock's bottom lip between his teeth. Sherlock pulled John to the sofa and then clambered onto him, breathing roughly through his nose as he settled into John's lap and thrust his hips. John moaned and gripped his hair as he rolled his hips and broke the kiss.

"Cor, I've wanted you for so long," he said, eyebrows drawn tightly together and mouth falling into a slight frown.

"Please," Sherlock begged, hair sticking to his forehead and cheeks now violently flushed.

"Tell me what you need," John said, gripping his hips.

"I am," Sherlock whispered, eyes suddenly a bit frightened. "A virgin that is."

John leaned in and kissed him gently before once again pulling away.

"Tell me what you need," John reiterated. "Even if it's to stop."

"I want to feel you inside me," Sherlock said, voice cracking a bit in the end.

John's head fell forward to rest against his neck and all of the air was pulled from his lungs at the thought. Sherlock panicked for a second before John mouthed at his neck and moaned.

"Y-yes?" Sherlock asked.

John chuckled and moved to get up. "God, yes."

Sherlock stopped him by tightening his legs around his middle and nodded to the coffee table. John's faced scrunched up in confusion and Sherlock looked away.

"Condoms," he whispered. "Condoms and lube."

John grinned in a way that seemed to show every tooth and Sherlock's eyes fluttered closed as he rolled his hips and pulled the table closer with one foot then reached into the drawer.

"Were you expecting this? On the sofa none the less?" John teased as he pulled out the unopened box of condoms and a half empty tube of lubricant.

"Hoping, perhaps," Sherlock admitted. "I'm afraid I'm rather in love with you."

His eyes shot wide at the unintended confession and John dropped the condoms and lube to surge forward and kiss him. The kiss was frantic and involved quite a bit of teeth for a moment before in turned into something else entirely and John brushed his thumbs across sharp cheekbones. Sherlock was breathless when John pulled back and grinned at him.

"You find my affection arousing?" he asked, eyes still a little bewildered.

John laughed and he looked almost painful with fondness. 

"No, you idiot," he murmured, "I love you too."

"Oh," Sherlock said, eyebrows tightly knit.

"You're wearing entirely too much," John said, pulling Sherlock down for one more soft kiss before letting him go. "Take off your kit."

Sherlock stood on weak legs and quickly slipped out of his trousers and pants, his cock standing at attention through the tails of his shirt. John growled and leaned forward to suck at the head, pulling the foreskin up with his lips and sliding his tongue beneath it. Sherlock cursed and griped his shoulders as his knees tried to give out and John pulled off with a wet sound.

"Gorgeous," John purred as his hands went back to his shirt front to undo the buttons.

Sherlock sputtered and the flush revealed on his chest once his shirt was off was bright pink. John grinned and pushed off his pants with his denims and sat back on the sofa completely naked. Sherlock's eyes fell to his cock and he licked his lips eagerly before John pulled him back into his lap.

"We could just-" John began, mistaking the sudden need in Sherlock's eyes for fear.

"In. Me." Sherlock reiterated with dark eyes suddenly boring into John's.

"Christ, okay, yeah, I'll just," John said, spreading lube over his fingers and gripping Sherlock's bollocks briefly before pressing further back to rub circles around his arsehole.

"Oh," Sherlock sighed, hips pressing forward and cockhead growing wet with pre-come. "John."

"You're doing well," John said, slipping the tip of his middle finger in slightly before pulling it back out to rub in circles again. 

"Please," Sherlock hissed, trying to get John's finger back into him.

"Shh," John soothed, slipping it back in when he felt no resistance and pumping it in and out. "I've got you."

Sherlock rolled his hips and John carefully pushed in another finger, taking Sherlock's cock in hand and giving it a slow stroke from root to tip. Sherlock moaned and then cried out when John rubbed the gathered wetness around the head of his prick as he started to scissor his fingers.

"Another, John, please," Sherlock begged long moments later, short fingernails of one hand pressing into John's sides as he wrapped his other arm around John's neck and kissed him roughly.

By the time John's three fingers were pumping in and out without any trouble John knew Sherlock was close to being ready. He thought absently that the man must have toys because, virgin or not, he was taking this all very well. He pressed his pinky to Sherlock's entrance and got a buck of his hips and a strangled whine.

He pulled back and looked up into Sherlock's face, removing his fingers and reaching over to open a condom and roll it onto his cock. He slid his hips forward and poured some lube over his cock before pressing more up into Sherlock and then cleaning his hand off on his discarded vest.

Sherlock took John's cock and held it where he wanted it while he rolled his hips and then sank down a bit until he was breached.

"Jesus," John sighed out loudly as he felt the constricting heat of the man for the first time.

Sherlock grunted and took more, hands gripping at John's shoulders, one thumb rubbing over the bullet scar they'd never talked about. 

"Oh, that's it, you've got it, take it for me," John mumbled as Sherlock finally lowered down all the way and stilled. "God, you're amazing. Perfect. God."

Sherlock rolled his hips and moaned against John's neck, tongue going out to lap at the sweat gathering there and arms wrapping around the Doctor's neck. John held him close and breathed roughly through his nose as he started to pull off and sink down again slowly.

"God, that's good," John murmured against his skin as the genius sped up and started to move frantically. 

Sherlock's hips pistoned as John started to thrust up to meet his movements and surged forward to suckle a pink nipple. 

"John, John, John," Sherlock chanted as he obviously found an angle he liked and started to flutter around John's cock.

"Are you gonna come, love?" John asked as he took Sherlock's flushed cock in hand. "Are you going to fuck yourself so hard on my prick that you come?"

"Yes!" Sherlock screamed, head lolling back and movements getting shaky.

John pumped his prick with one hand while he reached the other around to feel where their two bodies met, fingers pressing the outline of Sherlock's wet hole and making the man shiver before going rigid and starting to spill over his hand.

"That's it. Come on, that's it," John said, milking Sherlock's cock while his arsehole tightened rhythmically.

"John," Sherlock moaned as he slumped forward.

John grunted and pushed himself as deep as he could get while feeling Sherlock's hole give one more spasm.

"I'm coming," he murmured as he spilled into the condom. "I'm coming, oh, oh, God."

Sherlock hummed against his neck and held onto him tightly as they both came down. It felt good, euphoric, to be pressed to John, filled with him, in the aftermath of their first time together. His breathing slowed as he felt John soften inside him and he moved a little so John's cock could slip out before settling back down again and letting himself drift.

John chuckled and ran his hands up and down the taller man's back until he couldn't wait any longer to get the condom off.

"Hey, Sher, budge up," he whispered.

"No," Sherlock mumbled.

John laughed and kissed his shoulder. "We've got to clean off. Come on, let's go lay in bed."

Sherlock seemed to think on it for a second before sitting back with a look of suspicion.

"You won't leave?" he asked.

"Course not," John replied. "Come on, you big oaf, up you go."

Sherlock hesitantly stood and made his way to the bedroom, scrubbing at us eyes like a sleepy child. It was incredibly endearing and John breathed deeply for a second at the sight before standing and going to bin the condom and wrapper and get a wet flannel.

Sherlock was laid out on the bed like a starfish when he entered the bedroom, arms and legs seemingly trying to occupy the entire bed at once. John smiled and gently wiped himself and then Sherlock down, the warm cloth rubbing away cooling semen and making Sherlock even sleepier.

"John," Sherlock murmured. "John, come to bed."

John tossed the flannel in the basket by the door and climbed onto the bed and into Sherlock's arms.

"I'm right here," John mumbled as Sherlock wrapped his entire body around the smaller man.

"Good," Sherlock whispered. "Now shut up so I can go to sleep."

John grinned and pinched his bum before doing just that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you guys for reading this story! I hope you'll like the next one.


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